Autumn
by pricecheckgreen
Summary: Victor spends some time with Nora and comes to a resolution about his methods.


**All of the characters expressed in this work belong to DC, and I do not intend to profit financially from it. c:**

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Victor used to love Saturdays. He used to count off the days of the week before they came. Not because he disliked his job at all; even coming home every day well past mental and sometimes physical exhaustion couldn't get rid of his love for science. But it hardly left time at all for his _other _love, the one that even as he was freezing small mice took precedence in his heart, and that was why he so enjoyed Saturday. Nora, of course.

It was a little odd to think of it, but Nora defined almost everything that gave him joy. He couldn't think of something that hadn't been influenced by her in some way. Winter, for example—which he'd hated for its cold, before they met, but was now his favorite season. Dancing was another, which he'd never done before he'd asked her to the Gotham University formal and now it was something they did together constantly. Christmas—oh, especially Christmas, which used to be a lonely time of regret and was now the anniversary of their wedding day. Important dates like her birthday, the day they'd met; he had every cause for celebration at times that other people would likely find arbitrary. Even the interests he had before meeting her seemed shallow compared to how they felt now—having someone to discuss work with when he came home seemed so much more enjoyable than the actual work itself.

Logically, then, with someone so intrinsically tied to these things that made him happy, they became significantly _less_ wonderful when fate was removing her from the equation. And now it was impossible to love Saturday. Or any day of the week, for that matter.

He was making little headway in his studies. While Nora slowly fell into her weakness and fevers he was scrambling to cure her, and after months of diligence there wasn't much to show for it. All of his coworkers at Gothcorp assumed that the rushed, barely above baseline projects and tests that he'd been producing were the result of a worried mind—not so. They were the product of neglect. He'd been spending more and more of his time and energy into his main concerns. The equipment they offered him contributed to his own goals, the money they granted him spent on his personal research. Nora's cure was more important than anything the company needed him to produce.

It had gotten to where every second he wasn't working was unbearable. Gothcorp closed down on the weekends, and so he was often forced to stay home. Recently he'd taken to breaking in and working anyway—it seemed he had a rather uncanny knack for bypassing their security measures. Unfortunately he couldn't always go as early as he liked. The subject of his fevered research didn't quite…appreciate his absence, and so he would sometimes have to stay and take care of her.

A day or two with his wife wasn't supposed to be so agonizing. Victor desperately wanted to enjoy the moments he had with Nora, but there was forever that voice in the back of his mind, crying out for every moment lost. And far too often when she wasn't looking his eyes would trail over to the clock.

That Saturday, they'd planned to go for a walk, but when Nora had tried to get up in the morning she found that, while her legs were _working,_ they would not support her weight. Victor had smiled and said that it was okay, they could stay in. He smiled because it was so much easier for her to fall back asleep when she was resting, and since she now tended to sleep like the dead it would free him for the day. Hopefully she read the expression as good humor.

"I'm tired of staying cooped up in the house," she huffed, clutching her pillow to her chest. "I really wanted to go outside today."

"Even though it's not winter?"

"Yes." He could hear it in his head, _I don't think I'm going to live to see another winter anyway, Victor._ The placid look became difficult to maintain.

"I could carry you," he offered, as close to a joke as he could get. It made her laugh and Victor's day brightened despite everything.

"I don't think so, dear."

"It is not so bad." He kissed her forehead, trying not to think of all the chemical compositions he could be running through in the lab right then. "Perhaps tomorrow your legs will be stronger, and we could go visit the park. Or maybe even the old ice rink downtown." It felt stupid to discuss things getting better when they both knew everything was becoming so much worse. But he had to be positive for her—she didn't deserve the barrage of negativity broiling inside of him all hours of the day. "Would you like that?"

She thought about it for a moment, seemed to lose her focus, and grinned sheepishly. "I—I think I'd like a glass of water."

"Oh! Of course." He scrambled up from where he was leaning on the bed next to her. "Just a moment, don't, uh, go anywhere..." His wince at the poor wording was offset by the sound of her snickers as he left. It felt a little strange just how much he loved her laughter, even though half of the time it was at his expense.

What if he never heard her laugh ever again? How on earth could he survive?

He needed to work. It was so very wrong to relax at home when she was wasting away at an exponential rate, slipping inexorably away from him…

…Why had he come into the kitchen, again?

Water. Right.

They kept the glasses in a cupboard above the sink. Briefly, he considered getting water from the tap, but decided it wasn't good enough for Nora and took water from the fridge. The cold bit into his fingers; he paused a moment, feeling the heat sap from the air around him, thinking, before taking out the jug of filtered water and slamming the door shut.

His hand shook as he poured, and he was almost mesmerized by the vibrations in the water; little trembling circles that betrayed his terror, piercing the mask of normalcy he'd been trying so hard to maintain. Every action lately had been feeling calculated, to convince others that he was functioning rationally; that he wasn't turning into a desperate madman, that he wasn't misappropriating company equipment and money, that he wasn't dying inside every time he woke up in the middle of the night to find Nora shivering uncontrollably as her nervous system self-destructed, and that no matter how tightly he held her it wouldn't **stop**.

And there his mind went again. Did other people with dying loved ones grow so obsessed? Was the imminent loss all they could think about, or were they healthier individuals than him, able to move on without thinking themselves worthless for it? Perhaps it was Victor's plans that got the better of him, how quickly he'd grasp any scrap of hope he could find and work himself to exhaustion before realizing that it was a dead end.

Did Nora know? Didn't she know everything?

Grimacing and checking the clock once more—an hour or so before midday—he replaced the jug, took the glass and crossed back over to the bedroom. She was still there, smiling patiently at him—for a moment he was irrationally scared that she'd be gone, and he'd be left to stand in the doorway with the shaking water in his hand.

"You took your time," she teased, sitting up on her haunches. He quickly set down the glass before she could notice the anxiety reflected in the water's ripples, and she took a quick swig. "Thank you."

"Are you comfortable?" She fidgeted away as he propped up her pillows and pulled the blankets back onto the mattress. "Perhaps I should—"

"It's _fine_." She shooed him away. "Just talk to me, Victor, I get so bored when you're not here."

Talk? About what? What on earth could possibly occupy his mind that he could freely disclose? …But he was behaving too nervously; this was supposed to be a day of peace for her. In a feeble attempt to distract her from his discomfort, he noisily cleared his throat. "What, ah, what would you like to discuss?"

"Have they been giving you many projects at work?" she asked, leaning in a bit to see the face he was hiding from her.

_Had_ they? He stared down at his hands. "No—No more than usual. Gothcorp is…er, at a dry spell for new products. Boyle has had me largely in…research."

"Oh. I suppose that's rather convenient, isn't it?" A grimace crossed her features. "…Don't feel so good…" she fell back, clutching her abdomen.

He panicked, hurrying to her side. "_Nora?_"

"I—I'm fine, it's okay, I just, uh, pain, it's fine." She stayed on her back, though. He smoothed her messy and tangled hair, finding it difficult to swallow with the anxiety clogging his throat. Nora was not just momentarily ill, what she had was _terminal_, and—he needed to _do _something about it. He had to leave. And she needed to sleep.

"Perhaps you are more exhausted than you thought?" he offered, trying to squash any hopeful note in his voice.

"I'm not _exhausted_." She smiled again, weakly this time. "You make it sound like I've been running all day."

"No, it is just…" _In your condition… _"…I do not think you should strain yourself."

"It's not straining me to talk to you."

"You should _rest_." He moved a stray strand of hair out of her eyes, taking note of how they were beginning to droop.

"Oh, don't say that," she yawned, sitting up a little and making a very tired grin. "Then I won't get to see you."

"It is going to be a long day." Even though every day since her diagnosis had been growing shorter and shorter. "I think you have some time to conserve your energy."

Nora sighed and gave him a look he didn't recognize, stopping him short of speaking any more. She reached a trembling hand out and he faltered, flinched.

"You just want me to sleep so that you can go break into Gothcorp and work," she said finally, all of the good humor gone from her ice blue eyes. He stared at her, all pretenses fallen off his face as she brushed her fingers along his cheek. "Isn't that right, Victor? You don't care about staying with me."

"I—" There was nothing he could say to refute this. He could try to lie. "No, Nora, I…"

She drew her arm back and rolled away from him, pulling the blanket over her head. "Fine. Go on. I don't want you here if you'd rather be somewhere else."

It felt like she'd slapped him. It would have hurt less if she had. "Nora…?" She shuffled further under the covers. "Please, darling…I-I am doing this for you." He moved so that he was speaking to where her head was under the blanket, feeling his voice break a little. "D-do not do this to me. You are all I can think about, I—I am not neglecting you, I am doing everything to _save you._ I love you so much…"

"Just go away." It was hard to hear her speak, little more than a whisper and muffled by the comforter, but her sullen voice cut through every barrier. Victor sat back on the mattress, feeling frustration well in his throat. Why did her own life mean so little to her, when it was everything to him?

"I will not _lose you._" His voice grew harsh. "I would rather bear your hatred than _watch you die_—I—I don't care what I have to _do__._ How can you expect me to sit back and_ pretend that nothing is wrong?!_"

With the words there around them, choking them, he waited. She said nothing. He wanted her to talk. To do _something_. Anything but lie down and succumb to her illness, even if it was to yell at him. He wanted to provoke her, to make her mad enough to fight with him, instead of abandon him, herself, the life they'd talked about, _everything_, how could she be so _selfish_?

His anger deflated when she refused to fight back, leaving him hurt. She didn't _want_ him there. "Nora…" It was possible that he could sit for hours and receive no response.

He wiped his eyes and got up to leave. "I…will be back later, m-my love." Nothing. Almost unwillingly he started calculating how he would hack his way in the door to his lab. Whether or not he would be able to access a good sample of test subjects to try out future solutions. The pain in his mind began to glaze over; but he had to look back one more time. The mass of blankets was shivering slightly, accompanied by a small noise.

She was _crying_.

A good husband would have turned back to dry her tears. Victor had no illusions, then, about himself. He was a scientist first. And he would show his devotion by bringing back the means to cure her. It seemed he was unable to do anything else.


End file.
